cluttering the net since 2001

neon - poem

Monday, May. 31, 2004



somewhere there’s a midway

and a carnival

not a circus with a tent

but a game booth with a voice

i remember from the past


mid-america there’s a picnic

i’m not there

not invited,

and there’s no food in my icebox

love’s going to illinois

so it’s all-empty…cold

just a void


sometimes there’s a boy

all blue eyed

flashing like a sparkler

on a july day almost june, dead afternoon…

but not quiet like the month called may i?

gone…he’s not mine today


sometimes nothing

but a word never written

and then the testimony comes back

and almost…i remember

who it is

that i see in my mirror

then ghost this town again


when the bile comes

i feel

the stems

dead like a flower

sleeping on my bed




like the present guest

that didn’t attend


sometimes i am nothing

and it doesn’t matter

it is those times that i breathe


because they are real

and i am me


you left your trench coat

and i wear it

when i’m lonely, a rubber boat on the ocean

i can float


an envelope full of cut ups

i am fucked up

my heart has caved in

suicidal hope


i’m dragging

now i’m gagging

on the onetime dinner plate

we ate pizza and you

rode your cycle

through the psyche ward

and i wrote you a note

about my soap


when i loved you

you laughed inside my bones

like the moon you hung up

you’re now resurfaced

just left your dirty towel

on my bloody throat










4:38 p.m. ::
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